


Ice Flowers

by LainellaFay



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Astronomy Professor Thranduil, Hogwarts AU, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Hufflepuff Legolas, Legolas and Thranduil are not related, M/M, Mentions of canonical Harry Potter characters, Muggleborn Legolas, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Teacher/Student relationship, Side-fic, Slytherin Thranduil, Snowball Fight, Underage tag for safety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 08:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5701393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LainellaFay/pseuds/LainellaFay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a snowball fight occurs and there are also singing snowmen.</p><p>[Hogwarts AU/Hogwarts 5th Year/Pre-relationship/Side-fic]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice Flowers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Azriel_Lolita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azriel_Lolita/gifts).



> Side-fic to a main fic (yet to be published) based on [this prompt](http://lainellafay.tumblr.com/post/124031431334/i-was-wondering-if-i-could-request-a-thrandolas) by [Azriel_Lolita](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Azriel_Lolita/pseuds/Azriel_Lolita). 
> 
> Beta'd by [NightHerald](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightHerald) who is forever awesome.
> 
> Wanted to write a snow fic so this happened and kudos to my friend who suggested 'snowmen singing Frozen' to me. 
> 
> Underage tag for safety.
> 
> Not much to know about but a little background information:  
> \- Set in Legolas' fifth year. He's in Hufflepuff and a Muggleborn.  
> \- Thranduil is the Head of Slytherin and Astronomy Professor. He's a Pureblood.  
> \- They have been meeting during their free time and chatting about various subjects (it starts with Astronomy) throughout the years.
> 
> There are some insights into what would happen in the main fic. THAT SHOULD COME. (It sounds very unconvincing looking at my track record...ha...ha...ha......I'm sorry)

.

.

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The moon shines blue against the amethyst night sky. A blanket of thick snow covers the landscape, an endless sea of white from Legolas’ view at the top of Hogwarts’ Astronomy Tower. He tugs the end of his Hufflepuff beanie clumsily, his fingers obstructed by the woollen gloves he wears. A stray lock of his golden hair falls into his eyes and Legolas hisses a curse. He puffs at it in a feeble attempt to nudge them away and, occupied with his task, Legolas nearly misses the snort of laughter that comes from his right. Professor Greenwood has a hand over his lips, his frame shaking with mirth.

Here under the blue glow of the moonlight, Thranduil appears unearthly—undeniably captivating in fur-lined robes, black with a deep shade of green on the inner side. Legolas feels his breath hitch and his heart quicken. There is a soft tinkling of chimes rising from below; the resident ghosts of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry are having their half-annual party organised by the Fat Friar of Hufflepuff house. He blinks himself out of his daze and feels heat rising to his cheeks for staring at the professor. Legolas averts his gaze. He lifts his gloved hand to swipe that annoying lock of hair away only to brush against Thranduil’s, who apparently had the same idea. Even through the thick material, Legolas swears he can feel the heat of the professor’s hand and he drops his own immediately, wanting to put as much space as he can between him and that consuming heat. Thranduil doesn’t react to his actions, and with a gentle sweep of his hand he carefully locks Legolas’ hair behind his white, fluffy earmuffs.

“Thanks,” Legolas says, burrowing his head down into the scarf wrapped around his neck. He wraps his arms around his waist and faces the horizon. “My, a professor and his favourite student up on an isolated tower in the middle of the night for a clandestine meeting, I wonder what others will think of this should they find out.”

“Favourite?” Thranduil says. “You think too highly of yourself.”

“Now I’m just offended.” The wind howls as it flies by as if heralding a storm. Legolas shivers in its wake. “Heavens, it’s cold! Can’t you do something about the heating up here?”

“You’re a wizard.”

Legolas fakes a gasp. “And _you,_ Professor Greenwood, should know better. The rules specifically say students are not to use magic outside of class.”

Thranduil rolls his eyes. “When have the rules _ever_ stopped your little trio? The whole school know of your exploits.”

“Liar,” Legolas replies with a curl of his lips. Thranduil looks at him pointedly. It is obvious to any that he was not going to cast a warming charm over them. “You keep track of me ‘cause you like me, admit it.”

“It’s those whom I despise I keep tabs on,” Thranduil says with a raise of an eyebrow.

“So you say,” Legolas sings. He reaches into his robes for his wand—wait. “ _You_ have the charm on, don’t you?” Thranduil’s knowing smirk says all and Legolas grumbles about selfish, sadistic professors under his breath. His fingers brush against the handle of his wand and Legolas stills. The night air is cold and frigid, but it provides an indescribable comfort—so very much unlike the burning, _scorching_ touch of the professor. He removes his hand with a jerk, foregoing the charm.

Instead, Legolas looks down at the faint grey spectres hovering over the snow, gripping the railings to support himself as he leans over, and laughs when Peeves throws a snowball at Nearly Headless Nick which flies right through him.

Thranduil watches him with a soft smile. It has been five years since this little Muggleborn caught his attention, and somehow, he still has him in his snare. It is dangerous. Thranduil knows the growing unrest in the Wizarding World and the pain it will cause him, but he simply _cannot turn away_. Legolas is everything, and that is absolutely dangerous. Unbeknownst to him, his smile had turned grim at some point during his musing and Thranduil quickly fixes it. Fortunately, Legolas was too busy laughing at the hopeless snowball fight that had erupted amongst the ghosts, pure elation on his features.

“Do you want to go down?” Thranduil asks. 

“What?” Legolas says, his face flushed a nice shade of pink. His eyes, like gateways to the sea, glitter and shine. “Now?”

Thranduil shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Why ever not?”

“Yes!” Legolas cheers. He runs towards the edge of the staircase and turns, tongue in cheek. “Let us have a challenge not to get caught by Filch and Mrs. Norris.”

Thranduil follows at a slower pace, graceful like a feline in his steps. “Professors do not need to skulk in the shadows like a misbehaving student. I’m afraid you’re stepping into a contest you cannot think to win.”

“You can’t be _seen or noticed_ by either of them,” Legolas clarifies, “you lose even if they let you pass.” He skips down the last few steps and beckons with a hand. “Come on!”

It doesn’t take long for both of them to exit the castle. Mrs. Norris and Filch were patrolling the opposite side whilst they snuck out like ninjas, or rather, in Thranduil’s case, strolled out. Legolas reckons he won the challenge anyway because he had exerted more effort and ninjas were bloody awesome. So there.

Legolas spins around and walks backwards, his hands clasped behind his back, admiring how their shoeprints are the only tracks in the soft snow.

“You’ll trip.”

“I won’t,” Legolas says. There are small puffs of black clouds rising in the background, visible over the pointed towers of the castle, where Smaug the Dragon lies at rest in the courtyard. Festive cheers in the distance reminds him that they are not the only beings playing in the beautiful snowy night. “Have you _ever_ seen me trip? I have the reflexes and agility of a ninja. You don’t even—“

And he goes stumbling over his own foot, landing on his bum in the snow with wide eyes. 

Thranduil tosses his head back and howls with laughter, arms wrapped around his waist. Legolas splutters objections at the severe blow to his pride, and in the midst of that, spies Thranduil slipping his wand back up his sleeve to be hidden in the billowing fabric. To think he was to be taken a fool! _The nerve…_

His teeth snap together with an audible click and Legolas fists his right hand into the snow and launches a snowball at the professor’s face with the same deadly accuracy as his spellwork. The snowball is imperfect but it flies swift and true, hitting Thranduil right between the eyes. 

The attack is returned and Legolas dodges it by rolling to the side, onto his knees. He slips his wand out of his pocket and murmurs a spell to turn the soft snow under the professor’s feet into a slippery sheet of ice. Thranduil counters it easily by jumping off and with a flick of his wrist, ten snowballs zoom towards Legolas. He squawks and raises his arms to shield his face from the strong attack, momentarily forgetting about the shield charm he learnt.

“If the ninja was as competent as you said, he would have dodged that,” Thranduil drawls, tapping his wand against his palm. “Or am I meant to believe that ninjas only fail in the snow?”

“You used magic! That’s not fair!”

“As did you.”

“You started it first! As if you could have hit me without it,” Legolas huffs.

“Dear me…” Thranduil says, like a parent exhausted by an insufferable child. Legolas growls and throws another snowball which hits the professor in the shoulder, splattering that fine midnight black fabric with sprinkles of white.

Thranduil bends and scoops a handful of snow and packs it tightly into a spherical shape. Watching Legolas with the eyes of a hawk, he returns the favour. Snowballs are launched back and forth until Legolas finally lies sprawled like a starfish on his back, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath, white puffs of mist leaving his parted lips.

“It seems I won our battle.” 

“Congrats,” Legolas says, rolling his eyes, “you beat a teenager.”

“You can’t truly be upset,” Thranduil says carefully, looking at Legolas, his body tense as if ready to take off at any moment. “A wizard always acknowledges his losses. So they can learn and grow to be better.”

“Jesus Christ,” Legolas mutters, “I’m not upset. I was joking. Sometimes I forget…” Legolas trails off mid-speech and is silent for a moment, before he laughs it off, slightly bitter. “Well, I bet you’ve never lost any match before.” 

“I have, actually.”

Legolas doesn’t reply, but his face says all; he doesn’t quite believe Thranduil, thinks the professor is only being nice. It’s quite mindboggling, really. Because Thranduil cannot really remember an instance where he cared enough for someone to say what they wished to hear out of _kindness_. He really did think Legolas should have known that part about him by now. Thranduil sighs and approaches him, flattening the snow beside Legolas before sitting.

“I never understand some of your muggle sayings.”

“It’s much better than Godric’s balls,” Legolas says after a moment of thought, “or even Salazar’s snake, and _god,_ we all know they don’t mean a literal snake.”

“You forget I can give you detention for saying those words?” Thranduil asks, amusement displayed in the tilt of his brows.

“That brings up the question of _what were you doing out here with me in the middle of the night_ , doesn’t it?”

“Ah, but you forget yet again,” Thranduil answers, “I could have been walking over to find out who was the rascal making that racket past curfew and behold, guess who was caught red-handed spitting profanities at his professor?”

“Oh, come on.” Legolas blows a raspberry. He grabs Thranduil’s robe and, under the scrutiny of the professor’s curious yet amused gaze, pulls himself upright so that they sat side by side, shoulders close but not quite close enough to touch. He stares at his hands lying palm up on his lap as if they had made a mistake, and Legolas buries them in the snow. There’s a lump in his throat that doesn’t seem to go away no matter how many times he swallows. “You’ll never do that.”

“Yes, too much of a bother,” Thranduil says as a matter of fact.

“Hey! I’m totally worth the effort.”

Thranduil smirks, his blue eyes glinting under the moonlight, and Legolas snorts. He scans the wide space before them and grins, an idea popping into his head. Thranduil notices this and eyes him warily, as if Legolas is about to pull a mountain bear out of his pocket. Legolas sniggers and rummages through his brain for the correct spell. 

Blue sparks flicker out of the tip of his wand as Legolas clearly enunciates the charm, zooming through the air where they circle a small area above the snow. Up and up they dance, pulling the snow along with them until they form three funny looking snowmen with little tiny scarves, cute button eyes, and large carrot noses. If Thranduil was to be standing, they would only reach the height of his knees. Almost instantly, they burst out singing a song Thranduil doesn’t recognise.

“Where did you learn such a spell?” Thranduil asks in wonder, for he does not know of one that could bring so much _life_ like what he’s seeing before his eyes. He has more of an affinity with the deadly ones it seemed.

Legolas laughs over the jolly singing of the snowmen, running towards the middle of the circle his creations formed, his arms spread wide as he spins around like a top. “Elladan taught me a few party tricks. He found it in a book in the library.” _  
_

_Let it go, let it go_

Legolas hums, his body lost to the beat, swaying, spinning, dancing. Thranduil is entranced. Suddenly, Legolas lets out a _whoop_ and yodels the rest of the lyrics. It shouldn’t have been possible, but Thranduil swears the snowmen have disgruntled expressions at their creator’s antics. 

“What is this horrid noise?” Thranduil asks, holding back a grin.

“Popular muggle culture,” Legolas answers, moving away from the snowmen who look like they were about to throttle him. He comes to a stop before Thranduil with his hands on his hips, so that the professor has to look up to face him. “Well, it _was_ , I don’t know about _now_ , being here and all. I bet it’s _old,_ so last season, already. The trend’s probably some dog farting cheese or something crazy, y’know.”

“Muggle dogs _fart_ cheese?”

“ _Oh my god_.”

Thranduil pulls himself onto his feet. A quick wandless spell vanishes the snow clinging onto his robes and Legolas stares at him in a way that says _‘a little snow, really?’_. The boy is covered from head to toe with the flakes from their previous snowball fight. Without thinking—Thranduil is convinced his hand moved on its own accord—he reaches up and brushes the spot of snow on the tip of his student’s tiny, red nose.

Legolas stops breathing. For a brief second, he wonders what it would feel like to just reach up onto his tippy-toes and brush his lips against the professor’s. For that brief second his heart stops, and he had forgotten all about Tauriel and his big-fat crush on her.

Legolas quickly turns, waves his wand and the charm ends. The snowmen crumble apart, lifeless. “Right,” he says, “I don’t suppose we have an Internet for Dummies guidebook in the library, do we?”

“I am no Madam Pince.” 

“I’ll take that as a no.”

Legolas’ nose tingles from the fiery touch.


End file.
